


Golden Fields

by the_odyssey_needed_a_witcher



Category: the Witcher Netflix
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt is a dumbass, Geraskier, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Monsters, Mpreg, Pining, Post Mpreg, Smut Eventually, The Witcher - Freeform, a child, angst with happy ending, bard jaskier, bottom jaskier, creature!Jaskier, geralt gets a reality check, geraskier mpreg, gotta trust me, happy ending eventually, hurt without comfort, other witchers - Freeform, post mountain, pregnant jaskier, top geralt, witcher geralt, wither Geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_odyssey_needed_a_witcher/pseuds/the_odyssey_needed_a_witcher
Summary: Geralt expected Jaskier to fix everything after what happened on the mountain. Geralt gives up on waiting and goes to find his bard. things don't go as planned. Geralt is left to untangle twenty years worth of webs left by Jaskier - All while processing his grief and anger. As the journey continues Geralt realises Jaskier needed Geralt as desperately as Geralt did him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 421





	1. an Unexpected Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> hey, ya'll welcome to my witcher Ao3 account. I'm going to attempt to get another chapter up tonight, the post every other day from here on out. not making promises though! anyway, enjoy my lovelies! let me know what you think!

‘why don’t we get away for a while?” was his “I'll love you until I die,” Geralt realised much too late. The bard was a poet, a poet who constantly made it easy for Geralt to say what he needed. But he hadn’t fucking noticed. He was too busy thinking about Yennefer. About how Yennefer made him feel to recognize that Jaskier had caused him to feel in the first place. 

Then he had quarrelled with Yen because he cared. He cared, but that wasn’t why he destroyed their relationship. He did it because she made him feel more. Then, he turned on Jaskier, the man that broke down Geralt, the one who had nurtured feelings into Geralt's chest. And in recognition, he had verbally torn down the chapel that was their relationship. And for the first time, jasper had walked away. 

He swore to forget the bard. Yennefer had told Geralt “you’ll forget in time.” He believed her, alike in her ferocity and resentment, Yennefer always had a point. Geralt had wished the bard away. And he listened. By the time Geralt had cooled from spewing over Yennefer, Jaskier had disappeared. But as the years went on haltingly, Jaskier still preyed upon his mind. 

He kept the likeness of his lover firmly in his mind. It was a battle. Years created memories, and after decades of fighting to forget pain, he almost lost the agonizing memory of Jaskier. If he could only win one battle, it would be this one. it was the last thing he had, he had sent away the rest. 

Some nights he went half crazy. If he thought hard enough, he could almost sense the heat of Jaskier beside him on the bedroll. Or feel the bards curls roll over his neck as he shifted in his sleep. Or indeed, on silent nights, the echo of the bard playing by the fire late into the night. Jaskier wrote for the stars, composed to put Geralt into the constellations; he worked best by their guidance. Sometimes Geralt even believed that maybe the stars were on his side. Geralt found that he loved Jaskier on the first night like this, and for the first time in his life prayed to whatever god graced the skies, Prayed Jaskier would come back again–like he always did. 

Geralt kept some of Jaskiers papers, by his heart. So when the bard returned to his rightful place, he could return them. But too much timed passed, ‘perhaps he forgot that he left them,’ So Geralt went searching to return them. It was a wretched excuse to be close enough to the bard to remember how his heartbeats and, how he smelt.

After weeks of travel, Geralt stood in Oxenfurt’s town plaza. The village was intensely busy. People were everywhere, none familiar. It had been decades since he had been in the town. Geralt walked, recounted the stories of the bard, hoping to find some clue to where to find Dandelion in the chaos of the bubbling town.  
For the millionth time, Geralt wished he paid more attention to what the bard said, instead of how he said it. As he reached a soberer, more wealthy part of town, he caught a familiar mop of hair and followed. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt called to the bard. 

The bard didn’t cease but speed up. Ducking through the crowd. Geralt growled in response and hasten up to follow. Jaskier was never one to run, not from Geralt. He must have known Geralt was here to apologise. Jaskier would have eaten that up before now. 

“Jaskier! Its Geralt!” Geralt yelled, closing in on the man. The man must have realized he was close. And ducked down a side road and out of view.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz!” the witcher yelled as he rounded the corner. As he did, he found himself shoved into the stone of the wall behind him. 

“Why are you following me?!” the man demanded. 

Geralt looked to him, finding the voice off, and was met with hazel eyes instead of blue. Jaskier nose was off. a slimmer, more angular face. Wider build. How had he confused this man for Jaskier? Had he forgotten the bard? somehow he reminded the witcher of the bard. 

“I'm looking for Jaskier,” the Geralt ruffed removing the young man's arms from his chest. 

“my father?” the young man asked, angling his head to the side. Jaskier? His father? Jaskier is a father. a father to a young man, not a boy. When was the child born? Why did he not mention the child to Geralt in all their time together?  
“Hmm,” Geralt responded. 

“I don’t know why you want him. But you won’t find him,” The boy murmured. Looking away, before swiftly taking a step away from the Witcher when he saw people looking.

Had Jaskier sired this child and disappeared? it would not have surprised Geralt, the bard often buckled under the pressure, if not grown irritated with domestic life. 

“do you have any idea where I can find him?” Geralt huffed, knowing he’ll talk to the man about deserting his child. Even Geralt had gone back for his child surprise. 

“He died last year,” the son mumbled. 

Died? Geralt frowns. Jaskier died? He had heard little of his love for some time. He assumed the bard had gotten himself into some trouble and went into hiding— how long had it been? how old would Jaskier be now? It has been almost twenty years since he last saw the bard. Jaskier would have been almost sixty. Geralt had never seen the manage. Or perhaps just didn’t take notice. it never crossed his mind that Jaskier would die one day. The bard tended not to do things unless he wanted to. Geralt had never considered that there would be a time where it would be inconceivable to have Jaskier by his side. 

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even allow himself the chance too, he has assumed that Jaskier would run back to him, as he always did. Jaskier was always weak-willed, forgave too easily. Geralt had taken advantage of that for decades, because he was too closed off, wasn’t willing to let the man he loved in, as a result, Jaskier gave up on him and begun his own life. 

“your mother? Where is she?” Geralt breathed, knowing he needs answers to his questions. He needs the chance to apologise to Jaskier, even if he’s already retired to the soil.

“I don’t have a mother, my father carried me,” the boy admitted, shifting strangely. Jaskier had carried the child? Jaskier had shown no interest in having a child of his own, let alone bear one. But Geralt had been misguided about Jaskier countless times.

“your father then?”

“I don’t know him, some witcher da had met on his way home from travelling. Da had never spoken of him.”

Geralt's skin prickled at that, not only had someone, someone other than him had given his bard a child, it was a fellow witcher. A witcher had taken advantage of the despair he had caused for Jaskier, and used it to impregnate the poor bard, and then abandon him. 

Geralt will find the witcher, make him pay for the atrocities he’s committed against his child, Geralt's bard. Make him understand what miracle he has missed because he disregarded the bard. 

“ill find the witcher,” Geralt told the child.

The boy lit up at that. For a moment, he saw Jaskier on the first day they met. There was something else there, it hid in the young man's shoulders. A tightness. Geralt could not place its likeness. 

“Can I join?” he asked, “there’s nothing left here for me.”

“fine. But I don’t want to hear a word from you,” Geralt stated as he strode back in the direction of roach. Geralt would not have left the boy there anyhow, he would hold onto the last piece of Jaskier for as long as he could. the lad should have the chance to meet his father anyways. 

“My name is Boreu, Da named me after a dragon he met, though I doubt the truthness of the stories.”


	2. By the Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> secrets are almost revealed, and Geralt goes on a Hunt - but not for a beast.

They made it out of the town swiftly, only making a detour to allow Boreu to purchase a young mare from a village on to outskirts of the town. She was smaller than the others, personally, Geralt would have gone for one of the stronger ones. but Boreu and ‘holly’ as Boreu had named the horse hit it off almost immediately. The day’s trip has passed almost silently.   
As the sun was dropping just behind the tree line, Geralt could hear Boreu chatting away. Geralt looked back, thinking the boy was talking to him, had so many years of practice turning out the rambles of Jaskier, he hadn’t heard the boy.   
but to his surprise, Boreu was leaning down and talking to holly. 

“have you left the village holly?" he asked, braiding her mane. The mare nickered in response, ears pricking up. “huh, me neither. I’m glad we get to do this together. It should be fun - Oh! it’s official, you are my best friend and journey buddy,” Boreu smiled as holly snorts at him. 

The interaction took aback Geralt, most do not talk to their horse openly in fear of ridicule. even Geralt who feared no man's judgement waited until he was alone to talk to Roach. The boy truly was strange - not that he is Jaskiers child after all. No doubt inherited the Bards overactive imagination. 

The passing thought of Jaskier almost winded him from the pain. the happy memories that once filled Geralt with longing for his nightingale left with the bitter taste of death and aching bones. Jaskier death had reminded the Witcher of how truly old he was. not an old and withering kind of old. but a deep, heavy ancient pain - pain caused by an aging soul and power, not by bodily aging. Geralt has always felt old and tired. But the loose of yet another forever young and whimsical soul seemed to accelerate the aging of his mind. 

But as much as he is heavy with age, he had a reason to be young. he had Jaskiers, son, to care for. he had already raised his child surprise, Ciri. but she could care for herself before Geralt had found her. she was no gentle soul wondering the world for artistic inspiration like Jaskier or Boreu. she waited with destiny, destiny had blessed her with the ability to care for herself long before she truly needed it. Geralt spent his many years waiting for Jaskier, helping her hone those skills. she had long ago passed Geralt’s skills. before Geralt had gone looking for his missing bard, she too had left in search for someone who can teach her what Geralt could not. 

The time after she left was incredibly lonely. her absence had ripped open the old wound that was Jaskier. he had hoped to have Jaskier by his side again by now. stealing a glance back at the bardling, Geralt realised this would be the closest he would have to have either of them back by his side. he was now responsible for a child unbound to him in anyways. has he doomed the boy?

Not only that, he had made the boy a promise to find his father, Geralt has no clues to who the sireer of the child is, or even if the Witcher he belongs to is still alive. but he will do his best. he owes it to Jaskier, this is a fraction of what he owes Jaskier. he reminds himself, but this is all he can give. he hopes it will be enough for Jaskier to welcome Geralt back int his heart when its time for Geralt’s eternal rest. it’s likely not, as much as Jaskier is - was - kind and forgiving, he was equally bitter and resentful. It’s time for Geralt to receive such treatment. He deserved it a long time ago. 

********   
Geralt sat resting against an oak. he and Boreu had set up camp a few hours ago. they spoke little to each other. Geralt was at a loss for words to say to the young man. it was also clear that he didn’t trust the Witcher. which he shouldn't. Jaskier was insane for trusting Geralt straight away. he does not know why he expected the Boreu to treat him the same way. because you want him to be Jaskier. a small voice chimed in. he huffed at it and banished it to another part of his mind. 

Boreu looked to Geralt from where he laid by the fire. 

“that’s the face of a man fighting inside himself if I’ve ever seen one,” he spoke softly, smiling. 

Geralt looked up at him, surprised, and let out a small hmm in response. 

“why were you looking for my father mister Rivia?” the boy asked.

Geralt paused, unsure if he should tell him of his relationship to Jaskier. he did not want to complicate things. and if Jaskier had told Boreu of what Geralt had don. he did not wish to make the boy fear him. 

“I had something to return to him," Geralt muttered, not a complete lie, but not the truth for sure.

“oh, what is it?” Boreu asked, rolling close to Geralt. 

“it’s nothing.”

Boreu frowned at him, screwing his brows together. after a beat, he rolled away. 

“how did Jaskier die?” Geralt asked, before he could catch his tongue. 

“I dunno. Da disappeared for a night. by the next, a town guard was standing at our door," Boreu confessed, fiddling with the bedroll. “handed me Da’s coat and told me they found him dead in the forest. ‘probably just old age,’ the guard said. and that was that.” the boy mumbled. 

Geralt frowns more, “his body? did you fetch it?” Geralt asked. worried that Jaskier had been left exposed in the forest to be plundered by nature.   
“went looking, couldn't find it." the boy admitted.

Geralt was standing before he realises. “where” Geralt demands a little harsher than he meant it to be. 

“by the bridge," boreu responded as Geralt marched off in the direction of the bridge. he would not let Jaskier rot away in the woods without a grave.


	3. The war that was not his

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys!! My laptop died this weekend so I was unable to write. Forgive me!!

Geralt slowly made his way to the bridge in which Boreu had pointed him towards, the journey to the collapsing bridge had been lulled from his mind with the chloroform that was Jaskier’s body being left in the forest alone and unmarked. The area showed no evidence of a vicious killing, there was never one, or it had been washed away with the passing winter. The bridge had not been used in sometime, one could believe that the bridge had simply manifested within the forest on its own had it not been for the strange markings clawed into the trunks of the oak trees – a beast Geralt assumed had made them and they feasted upon the remains of the bard until there was nothing left? Had the severed the soul of the bard from his body? Geralt could assume that no one came to this area unless to act out a deed so sour that it should be hidden from the world. The thought of what may have been done to his bard here had his iron clad stomach churning – with illness of grief he did not know. 

Geralt smelt the air, hoping to catch the fading sent of his nightingale, but instead was met with rotting wood and moss. He searched the near by shrubs for any sign of death that could not be washed away, clothing, a murder weapon even – Geralt realised he had assumed that Jaskier did not die at his own accord, that the bard did not simply come here to write in peace, and died a completely human death. Jaskier was a human Geralt, now, after all this time he has finally convinced you that he was invincible? In Jaskiers darkest moment Geralt had chosen to listen to the bard. 

What had Boreu thought when he came here? Looking for his fathers remains? Had he been filled with grief or did he choose to accept the curse of death as if it was afternoon tea like Jaskier always had? Geralt did not know, but he did want to know, wanted to know how much of Jaskier will get to live on in Jaskiers son. He desperately hoped that the weight of Jaskiers heart drastically outweighed the cobble stones of mutant blood. 

As Geralt made his way across the bridge, a siren of familiar shrieks basked Geralt. His head snapped to the sky – found that the sun had been swollen whole passing clouds. As the shrieks grew in numbers, he draws his sword and jogged off the bridge. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as he sliced the head of ghoul, being careful to count how many were approaching. Twenty. A difficult fight, an even more difficult fight without the sun. Geralt desperately needed a fight, to turn of his brain. 

The ghouls had gathered and Geralt jumped into the middle of them, stabbing through the back of the head of one. As he pulled his sword from the messy remains of the Ghoul he turned, and gave a harsh blow to another. 

He removed the heads of a pair next to him, their forms collapsing and fitting against the dying grass beside the road. He felt the spray of their blood land on his eyelashes. Staining them rotting blood red. Coating Geralt in their stench. 

From behind, Geralt heard a bellow of more crawling from whatever graves that had been feasting upon. As geralt turned to look he received an bolt of pain up his jaw, causing him to stumble back, and fall into another group of ghouls. Within the blur of pain, handfuls of nails plunged themsleves deep into Geralts stomach.he let out a pained snarl as he grappled his way up to his feet. 

Before he could stand he got another blow, instead this time deep into stomach, knocking his diaphragm. His sword dropped into the writhing mess of ghoul limps as he grabbed his stomach as if the action would push air back into his lungs. 

As a ghouls mouthful of rotting teeth made their way to Geralts neck, drilled his fist deep into the torso, hitting what would have been their kidneys. It had little effect but to force them to stumble back a few feet. 

Geralt searched desperately for his discarded weapon, but before he could reach for the hilt, he was slammed to the ground by the combined mass of starving night feeders. All with a carnal longing to taste the newly rotting flesh of Geralt. Geralt struggled against them, at times finding he might have gotten the upper hand against it, only for that relief to be crushed by the ever adding weight of half dead life forms. 

Soon he was running out of air, the injuries that had been inflicted upon him had bleed his energy out alongside blood. All his body could do was muster up enough power to gulp for air, however painful it is. This would be the end of Geralt.

As he drew his eyes grew closed, bracing himself for what as about to befall him. He felt the weight bearing down on his body lighten. The air filled not with the bellows of war but the cries of death. 

Boreu threw his blade to the side and collected Geralts swords, driving it through a close ghoul before the sword was even in his hand properly. He whole body was tense, his face dark with the desire to save the man that promised him his father. 

In response the boy hacked his way through the crowds of death, there was no elegance in how he moved. He solely moved because of passion, it left him at times unstable but incredibly powerful. As he drenched himself in foul blood, all he could taste was the copper tang of blood. He had been injured.

As the last ghoul, one that was attempting to feed of the face of geralt was run through, Geralt opened his eyes. Bewildered to meet the eyes Boreu. Who stood above his shaking, clearly weak from the battle he just won. He pulled the Witcher to his feet with a muffled groan. 

‘Are you okay?” He asks, dropping the sword and then himself to the ground. 

Geralt had heard him, but could not find the words as he looked around at their fallen foes. How had Boreu won a hunt that geralt had lost? What Witcher had sired a child that could rival the powers of the white wolf. He snapped to look to the boy. 

Who sat watching Geralt, “I tried to warn you” he mutters, looking a little embarrassed. Geralt simply nods in response. Again, he had let his new emotions endanger himself. Lucky for him, adreline was blocking the pain of the gruesome injuries he had collected. 

“How do you know to fight,” Geralt demands. Grabbing the boys arm. 

“Da had me trained to fight, in case anyone came looking to harm me.”

Geralts heart pounds, and looked deeply at the boys face. “Why would someone hurt you?”


	4. Unhallowing Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More unanswered questions, and a little more heart break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its late loves! This chapter was a little harder to write. You’ll see why shortly. Ove you all! Stay beautiful.

“I dunno, Da was just always worried someone would.” The boy whimpered, pressing his hand against his side. 

Geralt had not noticed how pale the lad had gotten, in a jolt of concern, he ripped the Boreu’s shirt open, and was meet with a hideous wound snarling and bubbling blood. With the energy he had left Geralt tugged Boreu to his feet. He stumbled and fell against the Witcher. With as much gentleness Geralt could muster, he lead the boy back towards their camp. 

He could not be responsible for the death of the last feather of Jaskier ruined by his bloody hands and mindless mistakes. He held Boreu closer. Hoping his own warmth and support would offer some relief to him. 

It did not, the boys temperature continued to drop, and he radiated the smell of copper and stomach vile. In response, Geralt lugged the boys weight on his shoulders and speed up. Praying that he could get the boy back to the camp and cleaned up before infection set in. But knowing the ghouls, infection lied deep in the fingernails that are used for ripping the dead. 

Quickly they made it back to their way back to roach. Geralt swiftly deposits Boreu onto Geralt’s own bedroll; the boy groaned in response.

“Lay still,” Geralt demanded, pulling a medic kit from his bag, not much is fit for a human, but the boy has witcher blood, he should survive it Geralt decided. He begun to pull Boreus bloodied clothes away. Where a gruesome wound should have been, Geralt saw fresh, tender pink skin. Had it not been for the dried blood plastered across the boys torso one would not have known there was ever an injury at all. 

“how?” Geralt breathed, brushing over the skin.

“I dunno, Witcher blood maybe?” Boreu said as he sat up and looked t his skin baffled. 

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“I’m gonna go get cleaned up. If I scream come save me,” Boreu spoke, standing up and heading towards the river a hundred metres away.

“Seems you are the one doing the saving,” Geralt grumbles, watching the young boy creep through the darkness. 

Geralt sat for a few moments, recollecting the events of the day. Jaskiers body had been devoured by the undead. He didn’t even get the chance to join the earth. Geralt, Geralt had almost meet the same fate. Yet he was saved by the son of the most useless warrior on the continent. Witcher blood must be strong in his veins. 

Nevertheless, geralt had been rash, had almost killed Boreu for his idiocy. Everything he touches dies. Not in the way one expects, he does not pick a flower and have it die from fright. No, death came different for the Witcher, every seed he had ever tried to sow within Jaskier perished, Jaskier himself had passed before he could ever be loved properly by the Witcher. Love and death dance hand in hand around Geralt. 

Together, they make his ears bleed, fill his head with the sound of war drums. Leave him broken, bloody and aching. Jaskier was his last battle, it was full of fighting, running, war cries. He wished, begged his pass self to lay down his sword, to commit himself to the bard until marriage til death do us part. But instead, he had chosen a world of dirt and solitude. The battle never ended, Geralt was just to afraid to continue; thought he would triumph regardless. 

But now he sees Boreu and wonders what could have been his, could Boreu have been his? What had the boy faced that Geralt could have saved them from? Geralt had spent too long chasing hungry beasts through the country sides to know, smell what life flourished in his absence. Life that could have been his. 

He could have built them a house. He could have forgotten any reason to fight. What he missed could have been enough to do so. The corpses he had made could have fed the big green trees around the house. He would take up a faith and pray for it if it wasn’t too late. 

But now that house is just a burning dream. Instead he stained his hands with blood and condemned himself a murderer, a monster. Now songs and scars are his history. When he could have had a son, children. Had he only asked Jaskier to plant the seeds in his heart, he bloody hands would have been to gruesome to tend to them. But his blood, the blood that pumps through his heart could have sunstained them. 

Geralt shook what could have been from his mind, there’s no place for that. He had been sitting for a while. Boreu was not yet back. Concern blossomed like a dandelion in his chest. He stood and made his way towards the river. 

He heard the Witcherling before he could see him. Geralt froze when he heard the beginnings of a song. The boys voice was similar to Jaskier’s, but the words that left his lips were definitely Jaskiers’. 

“When I laid my head,  
I did not sleep,  
Nor could I say I thought,   
For all my heart could do was bleed…

I saw a vision of you,   
Unhallowing vision,  
You laid in the dust and earth of Something not yours,

You showed no signs of life my love,   
The sight possessed my mind,  
I could not sleep,  
I could not see,

Did you receive payment,   
For how you mocked the creator,  
You're a blashempise creation my love,

I saw a vision of you,   
Unhallowing vision,  
You laid pale in the dust and earth of Something not yours. 

I half willed life then love,  
For I could not shake the treachery commited against you, my heart love,

The vision filled me,  
With horror, doom claimed my throat,   
Oh! I'm no longer human love,   
Not without you,  
The loss of you violates all morality my love,

I saw a vision of you,  
Unhallowing vision,  
You laid pale in the dust and earth of Something not yours,

My body falls,   
Heavy love,  
I lay on the earth,  
I lift my head,   
My head past reality,  
I see the other, another, a creator,  
But there's no life without you love.” 

Even in Boreu’s lips the song was heavy with whatever feelings were weighing down Jaskier at the time of its composition.   
“What is the song about?” Geralt spoke without meaning too. Demanding answers on who the song is about.

Boreu looks up from where he stands in the stream. “My father.”

Geralt nods once. Not him. Good, he could not bear to know Jaskier would write such a song about him.


	5. Lightless room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY. HAVE SOME SMUT. FORGIVE MMEEEEE FOR BEING AWAY

Geralt laid amongst the sheets, lulling between sleep and insomnia.

He has found himself like this often now,

Edging between sleep and being awake for eternity. Even when his mind his blank, does he mind lean away from sleep

_He catches a glimpse of silk, he feels its softness press against his own skin, fingers dragging lazily over his own chest_

Jaskier’s name falls half – formed from his mouth, missing the taste of the bard.

_‘Wolf,’ the bard half moans against Geralt’s jaw as Geralt’s hands palm at the bards ass, gripping both it and the silk as if it was a lifeline. The silk in its coldness only made Jaskier feel more like velvet. The tender softness of his ass and thighs made Geralt’s battle worn hands tremble slightly, ‘how blessed he was to touch something so delicate,”_

_Jaskier loomed over Geralt like sleepless smoke, his plump lips dusted over the pulse in Geralt’s neck, as if the bard was asking for permission to feel the beat of Geralt’s heart. He did not ask no, Jaskier soon suckled at the pulse, felt the way Jaskier himself had made Geralt’s heart beat strong and powerful._

Geralt could feel the way the swell and heat growing in his crotch was hollowingly stark to the cold of the room, to do something about it would mean abandoning the fandom heat he was wallowing in.

_Geralt rolled them over, kneeled between Jaskier’s legs and looked,_

_Jaskier’s silk nightwear pooled around him, wrinkled from Geralt’s grip. The bards narrow hips softened with the weight Jaskier had recently gained – and Geralt adored. The bards bright blue eyes soft and wanting. His hair already wild. Geralt’s fingers trailed over the bards jaw, cheek, swell of his bottom lip._

_Only when Jaskier nuzzled his nose into the place under Geralt’s ear and whispers ‘all of me is yours, take what you want,’ did Geralt break._

_He kissed his nightingale and demanded ‘everything’ hungrily as he undressed the bard unceremoniously,_

_This was their church, these hours, they were strong and steady. Their bodies and muscles sung a symphony of godless hymns for one another’s forms. Geralt could let go of everything in their cathedral and solely focus on the prayers and begs of the song bird. Could enjoy how the religion of their coupling aligned them._

_“I love you,” Geralt wishes he would say instead of the “be quiet bardling,” he muttered as he lifted the bards hips so his velvet thighs could hug Geralt’s hips._

Geralt’s chest burns with guilt, devotion, with how his love was so far out of reach now. In a place where no matter how many times he fell to his knees and prayed to any deity that would listen to let him confess the love he felt for the bard, his fierce love that once upon a time he would have died for.

‘I’m a selfish man, love,” Geralt muttered to the dark and empty room as he drew himself from the confinement’s of his pants and stroked slowly.

_Jaskier’s brows furrow at the command, its effect only made the bard louder, Geralt’s lips melt against the bards softly, in hopes that a gentle moment would hush the bard. But the bard wasn’t having it. He gripped the Witchers hair, tugged it close and kissed him with everything he had._

_He had a lot for Geralt,_

_Geralt could feel the pulse of emotion that Geralt had caused to ripple through the nightingale._

Geralt’s entire form ached and throbbed with both desire and guilt for what he had done, is doing.

_Geralt sinks slowly into the warmth of Jaskier – who was already worked open for him - the warmth, the emotions and desire unfurls through Geralt’s entire body. Geralt could spend a life time inside of Jaskier. Defrosting the cold that was worked into his skin._

_‘Please Geralt, hurry up and fuck me, I don’t have all night.”_

_Geralt growled in response, Jaskier had been so insatiable in the last passing weeks, but Geralt was not complaining. He wanted to please the bard,_

_Geralt had never seen himself as someone who could be in love, but he felt so much more, he longed to worship the songbird._

He wish he did, perhaps if he did as he wished, he would not have lost the bard.

_Jaskier wiggled, Geralt exhaled a little to deeply against the bards lips, it was as if the bard could smell the desire on Geralt’s breath. The bard rocked his hips._

_Geralt could not have that happening, no. He would not be defiled while he was sunk so deeply inside his own temple._

_His hand went to Jaskier’s throat, held the teasing bard still as he thumbs over the pure skin._

_This did not stop Jaskier, no, it only made him whine, and roll his hips again, harder, steadier._

He fists at him harder, almost like a punishment,

An attempt to make his hand feel like Jaskier, but nothing could, no one could, they all feel like lesser mans god, almost like blasphemy against Jaskier.

_Jaskier flipped them with ease, held Geralt’s medallion like a leash, the gesture would seem animalistic had Jaskier not been looking at Geralt like a godsend saint._

_He kisses Geralt with such demand, with passion unmeasurable, Geralt’s cock ached now, he could not move, he was in the hands of Jaskier._

_The bard kissed down his neck, Geralt could not see the bard, but could only imagine how Jaskier’s cock sweeps under the silk,_

Geralt’s teeth grit, fighting to keep the fantasy.

_Jaskier’s lips slipped apart, he pulled a bruise into Geralt’s skin, left its mark on his throat._

_“Ill give you everything and more my beloved,” Jaskier whispered, Geralt’s hands reached for the bards hips –_

The scene ended with a burst of white and desire, Geralt could not hold onto the dream, the memory as the pleasure washed over him.

He lays panting, the pleasure drained away as quickly as he came. It was swiftly replaced with a flood of guilt and despair, what kind of man gets of on the memory of a dead man? Does it make Geralt an even worse man that he’s jealous someone else put a child in the bard? The bard that belonged to him for so long.

Geralt sighed heavily, it had been so long since he had found any release, he could not fumble with himself when Boreu was around.

Now, he lays in his room at Kaer morhen. He had decided to bring the boy here to train for the winter, and in the hopes the boys father would show up, and maybe even claim the child – man.

He had hoped that being here would rid him Jaskier, but instead, he now lays in a musky bed full of memories. They had spent weeks here before the mountain, Jaskier was light the poured over every inch of the room. And not until he was done did Geralt realise he was all that kept what the darkness held at bay.

He can only hope the light will return to the dark walls now Boreu is here. He is a piece of Jaskier after all.


	6. Sins of the heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

Geralt had stayed in bed for far to long. He laid listening to the trees, how his brothers, his father laughed at the bardling around their breakfast. Had Geralt not known who the boy was, he would have assumed that his family was sharing a meal with Jaskier like many winters before. 

Those sounds had faded about an hour ago, now the fortress laid silent. No doubt that his family had gone out to do their duties, Geralt thought, realising he should be up completing his own duties. Instead he remained watching the ceiling until he heard a knocking on his door. 

Boreu poked his head in, with a lopsided grin. “Geralt!” 

“Bear?” Geralt responded, a little unimpressed with the nickname the family had given their new son. 

Boreu had taken that as permission to walk in, and climb into bed with geralt. Geralt would have been startled by this had it not been a daily occurrence for the week they’ve been here. 

“I had a dream last night,” Boreu started.

“As most do,” Geralt mumbled in response, before being slapped in the face by a pillow. Geralt almost smiled, almost. 

“Listen would you? I was a child. I was out in the pine forest by our house. The pines grow big and untamed out there. And I was trying to get home before dark set in. But it got real scary, the trees were rustling –“ 

“Sounds petrifying,” Geralt quibbled, interrupting the boy again. It earned him only a glare before the boy was back to sharing his story. 

“The trees were rustling, and I heard a bunch of real spooky voices, and I was running. My heart was pounding. I was following this broken path – I didn’t recognise it. But it felt right you know?”

Geralt hummed in agreement. Hoping to get this story over and done with. 

“Anyways, something was snapping at my heels, but I broke through the tree and there it was, this big old camp. I had a feeling it was my fathers camp. Felt safe. My clothes and arms were all torn up from the brambles. And I called out. And you climbed out of the tent and ran to me. How strange?” 

Geralt frowned. Frowned and looked to the boy, sickly sweet he was. But Geralt didn’t want him to go and get attached to geralt. He couldn’t hurt the little bear like he had Jaskier. 

“Strange indeed.” Geralt responded, a little touched that he was Boreu’s father in his dreams. That’s more the Geralt had ever had since Ciri. 

“What did you dream about?”

“I don’t dream,” Geralt huffed. 

“Yes you do! You just said everyone does.” Boreu teased, flopping down side Geralt and making himself comfortable.

“Fine. I dreamt about waking up here, but something was missing. I could feel it. Something hard had pulled me away from the important thing. And I vowed that nothing would tear it from my heart ever again. So I got dressed, and I rode.”

“Uh huh, rode where?” Boreu asked, genuinely curious.

“To a cottage. It was night. The window were glowing. I jumped from my horse and climbed the steps, and I looked in and –“ Geralt paused, catching himself. 

“And?” 

“And someone I once loved stood there, holding a baby. A baby that was ours. I knew it. So I knocked. And a a woman I once knew answered. I – I asked her to let me in. Told her my story. But she only sighed. She sighed and told me ‘that no one by that name lives her anymore,’ and I got angry. Yelled at her. Told her I can see them in the window. And when I looked back the house had gone dark. They were gone. And I woke up.” Geralt frowned, “Every night they’re like that.”

“What are?” Boreu asked softly, rolling to look at geralt.

“My dreams. There’s always that house. It’s always lit up in the beginning. By the end it’s always cold and lonely.” Geralt half whispered, feeling very exposed suddenly. 

“Da always said dreams always showed you the sins you never atoned. Sins against our hearts. I know my sin against my heart and soul was wishing my father would come back. Used to tell everyone that he was a pirate, and that he drowned a sea. It was better then not being wanted.” 

Geralt frowned. Jaskier was always wise like that. He was dumb as river rocks, but the bard could always navigate the workings of the heart. 

“My mother gave me to Vesemir when I was young. I felt unwanted for a long time. Until I realised no one would love me like my father does. He was rough, and mean and strict. But he never let us think we weren’t loved. He was always inconsolable when one of his sons died in the trials of otherwise.” Geralt whispered, only wanting the cub to hear him. These were the moments he lived for now. 

“I’m doing the trials next week, I’m scared.” Boreu whispered under his breath. Fear rattling through every word. 

Geralt’s heart almost crawled out of his throat. Since when was the cub doing the trials? He never agreed to this – Boreu was his responsibility. He knows how Jaskier felt about Geralt going through the trials, he could not imagine the pain it would cause the bard for his own son to go through them. 

“You’re not doing the trials,” Geralt growled.


	7. Like a father and friend?

“Of course I am, isn’t that why you brought me here?” Boreu asked, looking at the witcher baffled. “That’s what Lambert said?” 

“No. I did not bring you here to be killed in the trials – what would your father think?” Geralt hissed. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t met him. I’m doing all this to find him remember? If I’m a witcher I can find a witcher.” Boreu frowned, sitting up. “Ill do what ever I must. I don’t think I can bare to continue to live alone. That’s no a life made for the likes of me geralt”

Geralt found his hand on the cubs arm without meaning to. Rubbed it, the only sort of comfort he knew how to do. “You have family in me, you do not need to risk yourself – I promised to find you your father. A witcher to find a witcher.” 

“No. Ill find my father, you’ve already done to much. Ill make him proud. Ill survive them. I have too” 

Geralt pulled the young man close, “you wont be doing the trials. They’re unholy, not a side one should pick. And certainly not a child.” 

“Why must I choose at all? To be undecided means I don’t need to make the choice. I can have all of it. I don’t want to disregard my feelings by picking either sides. I – I just want to kill the hatred inside me.” Boreu spoke, looking up at geralt. A honest boy always. 

“I had thought similarly for a long time, believed good or evil, lesser, greater, makes no difference, its all…blurred. I thought if I had to choose between one or another, I wouldn’t want to pick at all.” Geralt responded, equally as honest. 

“But you picked good. Everyone knows you picked good Geralt,” Boreu responded, looking again a little confused. 

“I had to pick good, I had to balance out the monster inside me. Or so I thought then too.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Before – before things changed, I hadn’t realised that people invent monsters, creatures of the night to make themselves seem less monstrous for the devilish deeds. Making evil makes them feel better, they find it easier to live. I don’t want you coming out of the trials to think yourself a monster. A monster invented by mortal men,” Geralt said. Looking at the boy hard. 

“How can I think myself a monster when I know Witcher’s are the protectors not the infiltrators?” He asked, with soft eyes. 

“Hmm. For someone who claims to desire you still see the world so stark. The line between monster and man, between protector and infiltrator, good and evil, are no existent. They’re one.” 

“What about the line between father and friend?” The cub smiled shyly. 

Geralt sighed, “don’t change the subject cub.” Geralt huffed, a little surprised by the hurt look on the boys face. 

“If good and evil don’t exist, then if I do good its simply wasted.” 

“You do specific good, good which would not go to waste, you do good to those you love, those dear.” 

The boy settled against Geralt’s chest and mulled over their conversation for a time. He regularly needed a break to process the words. They seemed always to mean a lot to him. 

“Da wrote about a monster once. I remember the song, I think its about my father. He never sung it when I was around, like it was a secret. But he’d share the secrets to a lot of less important people. Once I hid outside and listened. I didn’t remember much of it. So I paid a student or write it down.”

“Did it give any clues?” 

“None I could find,” Boreu pouted, looking a little unimpressed. 

“Recite it for me cub?”

Boreu nodded, fumbling a leather book from his pocket – he had started keeping ‘a book of clues,’ as he called it, to keep track of the clues on who his father is – it was small, so it rarely left his person.

“I looked at you o’white wolf,” he started,   
“I had seen no beast, only a fragile Beowulf,   
My heart never stilled, not even in your counterfeit chill,   
I was even blind to your beast in your soul,  
By the gods I wished I knew it was an impassionless hole, 

A beast you are, I satisfied my heart with your merciless growl,   
It only filled me with your foul sublime,   
There was a thrill in loving you,   
In loving you it was a brute anew,

Monster you are love, but I’m a monster in the making for loving you,  
Chasing illusive love like a lustful lie for loving you,  
Heart forgive me for loving you,   
Weep heart, 

Ive never loved a monster like you,   
A quenchless darkness follows you,   
We know one another, they’re my shapeless competitor, 

You made my heart sing your praises,   
I burnt your memory to history,   
But gods who surrendered me,   
Give me a found memory,   
Like a wolf in the long grass,  
Let me escape the subduing glass,   
Know my love has devoured me,   
A hunger beast feeds on what could have been 

‘Cause you’re a monster love,   
I’m a monster in the making for loving you, love  
Chasing an illusive love like a lustful lie, for loving you.   
Heart forgive me for loving you,   
Weep heart,

Because you’re in love with a monster,   
Put my heart on an alter,   
I let you feed of it still beating in my chest,   
Thought myself godly blessed for loving you, 

A monster in the making,  
A monster in the making,  
A monster in the making, 

Cause you’re a monster love,   
I’m a monster in the making for loving you, love,   
Chasing illusive love like a lustful lie, for loving you.  
Heart forgive me for loving you,   
Weep heart”

Geralt frowned, he had not expected such an angry song from jaskier. Someone in these walls or close to very much hurt him. Revenge settled angrily in geralt. 

“You should talk to my father about your notebook, he knows us all better then ourselves.” Geralt responded, while forcing the notebook closed in Boreu’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s excited to find out Boreu’s father tomorrow ;) how does everyone think it’ll go?


	8. Evelyn

Vesemir stood by the fireplace. Looked deeply in the flames. He did not usually indulge himself with this kind of thing, contemplations. He found it brought more sorrow then it was worth. But the arrival of Boreu and Geralt rose an ancient kind of guilt that he had almost forgotten. 

He had seen the look on Geralt’s face when he had explained what he thinks has happened. The whole body determination he had settled on when he announced that one of the Witcher’s in these halls were the father of Boreu. Geralt was convinced, self convinced of this truth. Geralt was a fool, an oblivious fool; but never once had geralt settled onto an answer so easily. Vesemir had expected it from a grief ridden child, but he truly did expect more from Geralt. 

But love made people do foolish things, even Witchers. Even Vesemir himself had fallen in love once. Long ago, long before the births of his sons. Her death – Evelyns death – had left him empty. He had brought the jar for her ashes home empty, it weighed more the body had, and had the same vastness of empty as he had. 

Many years after, he had felt like no year would be better then the last, he had no reason to believe so. The pain did not fade like she did. The days went by so fast, he hadn’t noticed that he had forgotten the last words she spoke to him until it was to late. He spent many nights laying in bed, pleading ‘if you think I can be forgiven, I hope you can’ but he never really got an answer. 

Then the boys had come, sweet and bright on the most part. But even they felt like oysters without pearls, they did not fill the gap. But they were something, something he could dedicate himself too besides mourning. He jumped at the chance. 

But every winter, he was reminded of how her laugh grew a little more distant, remembers all the things he promised her, things he never got the chance. So when jaskier had come to him all those years ago, he was weak to the bards request, the bards story. 

****  
“….I don’t know what to do, I didn’t think this is how things would go Vesemir, I would rather them run through these walls then be hidden from their father,” he remembers Jaskier saying the night he had arrived.

“I had a peculiar feeling that your world wasn’t all it seemed, but this jaskier? How could you have kept this to yourself?” Vesemir responded, dumbfounded by the bards confession

“I was tired of the misconceiving, I almost told him, I did, but I loved him, that’s all I could see,” jaskier had mumbled, eyes falling close. A painful rasp in his voice. 

“Open up your eyes, jaskier. Look at the mess you’ve made of things. This could have gone your way had you been honest.” Vesemir spoke candidly. 

“I know! I know! I’m trying to fix things, but please, please help me.” Jaskier broke. 

****

He had promised to keep the secret. And he had, he had gone beyond it. He had kept tads on the bard. Watched the web grow from afar. But he had never expected Geralt to climb into it. Geralt had told Vesemir himself he longed to forgot everything of the bard. Longed to silence those songs. 

While Vesemir mulled over this all, Geralt had crept into the room, Boreu’s notebook in hand. He was going to wait for the boy, but Geralt knew things here were not delivered with compassion. He needed to know, needed to recite it back to the gentle cub with some sympathy. 

“Father,” Geralt spoke, stepping up behind Vesemir.

“Geralt my boy, I think we must talk.” Vesemir spoke, not looking away from the fireplace. 

“About what?” Geralt asked, sitting. Looking at the leather work of the notebook. 

“About jaskier.” Vesemir spoke gently. Geralt looked up. This is not an what he had imagined. 

“What about him?” Geralt half whispered, not knowing if he wanted to know. 

“The boy. You wont find his father here. He’s not the one with the Witcher father.” Vesemir spoke, turning to geralt. Waiting for an reaction. 

“What do you mean – all of this, this is proof is it not?” Geralt asked, holding up the notebook a little defensively. He would not have this robbed from the cub. 

“Evidence it is. Evidence that your daughter has a witcher father.”


	9. Treasure gone before gained.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m the worse. I know. I know. I’m so so sorry. But here. A gift.

Geralt froze. Ciri? The only daughter he had – and will ever have was ciri. What did she have to do with Jaskier. They had never met. Sure jaskier was there when geralt had accidentally claimed her as a surprise. But that’s as far as the connection went. 

“Ciri?” 

Vesemir gave him a look of disbelief. Tiredness forming deeply around his eyes. 

“No geralt. Not ciri,” He said, clearly a little frustrated. “Jaskier kept a lot of secrets from you Geralt, including the existence of your daughter.” 

Geralt could only stare in disbelief. A hard nail of ache for something he never knew settling deeply in the tissue of his slow heart. He had a daughter – another daughter – and he had not known of her. Why hadn’t boreu said anything of his sister. Why has jaskier never told him? Had that much hatred grown between them that he would keep this from him? 

Vesemir, seeming to see the questions whirling around his mind like a thunderstorm, begun to answer them as if he knew. 

“Jaskier was not human Geralt, he was a dragon. He had hid from you until it was too late, though he has tried to tell you, and you had left him.” Vesemir sighed softly, “jaskier was carrying a child, your daughter, when you left him on the mountain. He had come here, with Eksel, after. I housed him until he gave birth to the girl, Lilian.” 

Geralt nodded numbly, more then dumbfounded by the revelation. His couldn’t help but repleat those days back to himself. Looking for something. 

*** 

Geralt woke up in pieces, first his skin, to the warmth of the sun, then his ears to the world that edged at their camp. Then his fingers, they moved first, missing something they sought io find in the early morning drowsiness. He found it, the fingers that belonged slotted into his own. Belonging there more then anything. His eyes followed, and met blue ones after slow, sleeping blinks to clear the brightness of leaf broken sun. 

“My witcher,” jaskier spoke easy, sweetly. A smile settled on geralts lips, settled easier then the white scar that the plump and pink of his lips. 

“You’re awake.” 

Geralt rolled over, wanting to keep Jaskier a little closer. With a huff, he draped himself over the naked for of the bard. 

“Am I your witcher?”

“You’re certainly not anyone elses.”

“Hm. You made that abundantly clear,” Geralt half smiled, rubbing the bite marks scattered over his skin. 

Jaskier laughed, laughed as his fingers traced lazily over geralts jaw. Geralt catches his wrist. sliding their palms together and brought jaskiers worn hand to his mouth.

“you haven't proven to me that I'm yours yet." 

“hm” geralt half smiled. "have I not proven it to you yet?" 

"Nope, I've made it abundantly clear that you're my truest love. In fact, the truest love I've ever known and will ever desire. But here I am unloved."

a flush crept up Geralt’s cheeks. Jaskier knew he belonged to Geralt. 

Jaskier kissed him, and geralt groaned when jaskier pulled away too soon. left geralt in bed, spread out bare in the light of outside. Geralt watched, noted how jaskier seemed to shine in the fresh sun. A new sort of glow. One that seemed to accompany the new weight. Perhaps jaskier finally felt good about himself again.

Jaskier only rose for a sip of water and returned to their bedroll. Geralt grabbed his wrist. Gently. And held him a little closer.

“Geralt” he spoke, a new tone to his voice, somewhere between serious and sad. Geralt froze. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt whispered back, worried. 

Jaskier paused, stiller then he had ever been in his life. Before shaking his head softly. With a light breath, he spoke. 

“…I’m still feeling unloved.” 

"I'm sorry." Geralt apologised, smiling softly.

“I don’t think you are.” 

Geralt watched intently as Jaskier with his wrist still held in geralts hand, straddled him.

“I am,” geralt admitted. 

“You can’t be darling, you don’t know the ways and reasons I feel unloved”

“Hm. Tell me?”

“I can’t. Not yet. It’ll hurt to much to have myself bare to you now,” 

Geralt didn’t understand what jaskier meant, but he was a patient man. He could wait. 

Jaskier kissed Geralts neck, it cleared the heaviness of the air. paid special attention to that one spot. He mouthed at the skin that stretched over Geralts bare chest. Let geralt lace their hands together Properly. Silk, slender and bone like between calloused and sunkissed, a crafted balance. When their mouths met again, Geralt sighed, relaxed under the weight of the body on top of his. Jaskier let go, rubbed his hands over Geralts chest.

“Birdy,” geralt called, and jaskier smiled in response. “Would you kiss me?”

Jaskier answered by doing just that. A soft brush at first that made Geralts body tingle and his stomach flip, and then a touch harder. Geralt shifted and flipped them over, kissed jaskier from his lips to his chest and back. Ensuring that every emotion he had ever felt for the bard was on his lips, real enough it could be tasted. He hovers with hardly a breath of space between their mouths. Jaskier curled upward too late to close the gap, and geralt watched his eyes widen with surprise when geralt stood from the bedroll. And made his way to the fire. 

“If you’re going to taunt me with my worth to you, you could just me leave.”

"You know your worth to me." Geralt spoke, before taking a break to drink before sauntering back. leaning down with his palms pressed on the bedroll besides jaskier, who was stretched out comfortably. one leg bent up, one arm behind his head. Geralt fixed himself between jaskiers legs while he spoke. "but I won't let you go until your worth something to yourself."

He smoothed up jaskiers thighs and lifted his bottom from the ground, so that a hitch of breath fell from his lips in anticipation.

Geralt pressed the kiss to jaskiers lips finally. Geralt’s gaze dropped briefly to watch jaskier squirm underneath him. His stomach rippled when Geralt’s fingers landed their lightly. slid down in between the crevice of muscle that practiced swordsmanship developed. Geralt sighed, jaskier kept his skin under lock and key. No one saw the scars. No one saw they way it made jaskier look like carved marble.

Lowering himself, geralt dipped his tongue out to taste the sunbathed skin of his lover. To kiss it. 

Jaskier half hissed at the contact and geralt smiled up at him, parted his lips and closed them in a wet, warm kiss.

“Tell me, how much are you worth,” geralt commanded softly, his words caught between geralts lips, and jaskiers even warmer stomach. 

Jaskier new this game, geralt did some version of it every day the passing months. “im worth my life, without my deeds." Jaskier managed, his erection already growing between his legs, stiff where geralt could feel it.

"And?" Geralt urged. Frozen. Not going further until jaskier says the biggest truth of all. 

"I'm worth having you."

Jaskier grabbed geralts wrist, and brought Geralts fingers to his mouth.

An unexpected answer, one that hit him rather hard. Extremely hard. Geralt smiled, inside or out, he didn't know. But he felt it in his chest. 

"Worth more," Geralt watched as jaskiers eyes fluttered closed and he kissed Geralts fingers, the knuckles of each and then the tips, even his palm. Jaskier took them in his mouth and geralt felt his own cock harden further as he watched jaskier lips, pinker and swollen from kissing for too long and too often, wrap around his fingers. Geralt removed them carefully, swiped the pad of his thumb over jaskiers lip, pushed into his mouth gently and only for a moment before he kissed Jaskier. 

Jaskier kissed back with more eagerness than he normal. Geralt found pride in it. Forced them to slow down to commit every detail of it to memory. When they broke apart, geralt caught his breath against Jaskiers neck.

Geralt sat up, but jaskier went with him, kissed him desperately, slowly, shifted so that he was in geralts lap. Jaskier closed the gap whenever too much time passed in between kisses. Jaskiers turn to leave geralt in bed dizzy with want and geralt sighed lazily. Geralt could see through the veil of calm like always- jaskier was ready, excited, wanted more of everything he got from Geralt. Because he's worth it. 

Jaskier was still open from the night before, so he straightened up, geralts cock sliding tauntingly between his cheeks.

Geralt adjusted his weight as Jaskier backed into him. Kissed lazily as he pushed inside him. 

Geralt heard jaskier exhale sharply and kissed his neck. Geralt slid his hand from Jaskiers bottom to the slight, angular curve of his hip, rested it there to steady himself as he began to move, a push and pull of hips. Geralt could see that jaskier needed something to hold onto, a place to brace his arms. slowed, geralt reached for jaskiers hand. 

“Hold onto me,” geralt said, voice breathlessly soft.

“Have you mistaken me for a gymnast?" Jaskier asked, grinning, with gritted teeth. Clearly trying to keep the sounds of geralts touch inside.

Geralt laughed softly against Jaskiers neck. 

"No songbird, I just know nothing keeps you from what you want." Geralt spoke, as Jaskier grabbed onto the witcher. Jaskier arched back, and geralt groaned into his shoulder in response. Geralt groaned and pushed in and out in a pattern that left them both hungry for more.

Each other’s names were the only things they could manage. Geralt keeps one hand braced on jaskiers hip while the other slid down his stomach. His fingers brushed jaskiers cock and jaskier was breathless, - which head an accomplishment in its self - right on the edge. Geralt moved his hand higher up, palmed jaskiers chest and then his neck, thumbed at the swell of his throat. bit down on his shoulder when he could feel his own climax threaten to break. Geralt lost himself rarely, but rare was a union like this. bodies seamless, jaskier molded perfectly against him.

They finished together, a tangle of limbs as Jaskier shook with the force, spattering the broken skin that stretched taut over his stomach. He fell onto all fours as geralt came undone inside him, and geralt braced himself with his hands tight on jaskiers thinner hips. He pulled out after a moment. And jaskier fell on the bed ungraceful. And geralt followed, spent and satisfied.

Looking back, geralt could have seen the signs, why did he not pry more?  
*** 

“Where is she?”

Vesemir paused, looking back to the fire, “She’s passed shortly after her birth Geralt.”

He felt as if his whole body had been robbed from him, everyone knew of his daughter. A part of him he’d never get to see – one they were fully intent on not ever letting him know of. All he wants, all he needs is the honest truth. 

“How?” 

“Jaskier – during the times he did not travel with you, worked as a spy and informant. I believe…” Vesemir pauses to clear his throat. Clearly uncomfortable. “I believe that a mage, a mage by the name of Stegabor had a large price on her head. The child is half dragon and witcher. But from my understanding, the hunters that came looking for her only managed her…death before her mother came.” 

Geralt feels sick at the name alone. And something more. When he feels like this, vivid and truly, it’s like falling in love in one moment, and falling apart again, and it hurts so much. He had felt this before, long ago. For Renfri. 

He thought he had aged out of these death cliches, but here he is, his heart restarting as destiny throws him another. Clearly he had not learn the lesson he was supposed to with Renfri; now he has to ache for something twice as invaluable. 

“I believe he is looking for Boreu.” Vesemir spoke again, mildly concerned over Geralt’s silence. 

“Then I will have the mages head, before he takes something else that cannot be reclaimed,” Geralt responded, standing. “Boreu’s father, who is he?” 

“Boreu was abandoned on our steps, by a mage called Triss, only days after Lilian’s passing. Jaskier decided to raise him. a new treasure”

Geralt swallowed at the name, not wanting to know why. Instead deciding to focus his attention on protecting his son. 

His son. He knew how it felt to be abandoned by your own mother. It’s a trial a child should never face. And from experience, ones not so easily covered. Boreu is a sweet boy. Geralt had never understood what his own father meant when he said he longed to see the world through the eyes of a child again. Not until Boreu came stumbling into his life all wide eyed and preaching words about the world. 

Geralt fled the room, if there was more, Vesemir could tell him later. Right now, he needed to find his son and tell him the truth. Somewhat of the truth. 

He half jogged down the stairs of the keep, knowing the cub would be with his closest companion, his horse. As he turned the corner into the stables of the east side, he was met with a familiar voice. 

“Darker times,  
Dark times,  
You don’t dull our smiles,  
For my mothers hugs and sweeter days are just around the corner,” 

Watching Boreu, he has a little bit of hope. Geralt had thought himself the one who would hold together Boreu’s life now. But the realisation that Boreu is the real anchor. Somehow, in an unnoticeable way – geralt was never easily snuck up on – Boreu had taken hold of him. 

By the gods, he hopes the boy will take the truth well, accept it in all its worth. He knew he would not reject geralt, his heart was too kind for that. But he knew things might change between them. 

Boreu noticed him then, and smiled. 

“Geralt! Want to go for a ride? Vesemir said there was a lagoon-“ 

“You’re my son,” Geralt blurted, unsure of how to go about this conversation. Talking isn’t his strongest suit. 

Boreu paused, looking at the horses side, hands that were brushing down holly stilled. A simple frown on his lips. With a breath he turned and launched himself at geralt. Hugging him tight.

Geralt held him even closer, breathing air of relief and giving a silent prayer. He didn’t believe in gods, but this blessing might just convince him. 

“You – that’s wonderful – wait. You slept with my dad and never considered it might be you?” Boreu spoke, frowning slightly and pulling back. 

“Ah – well…” geralt trailed off. Unsure of how to answer that. 

“You really are daft,” Boreu grinned, straightening himself. “But this is good, I’m glad its you.”

“Jaskier is not your mother Boreu, he – he took you in. You belonged to a mage.”

The cub seized up at that confession. Geralt realised it should have been handled with a bit more care then he had given it. Tears brimmed. 

“Oh – well my parents are who I choose them to be. Da will always be my father – and I have you, I have my real father, that’s, that’s enough for me. Ive been without you for so long.” 

Fuck. Geralt has made another grand mistake. This one is going to hurt a hell of a lot more.


	10. Dragons board

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! Sorry!!! But enjoy jaskiers "return"

Jaskiers POV

Twenty years ago prior. 

Jaskier lays on a cold table, his eyes tear in the corners. This is cannot be happening. He had ignored the signs for so long, so incredibly long. Convinced himself that it was anything else, how he wised it was anything else. He had ignored the sickness, the aches and cramps, the weight gain. 

He had known the risk when he risked it, 

‘when you find your treasure jaskier, it makes changes to accommodate it,”

he remembers his mentor, Boreu said before sending him out in the world. He had known that with dragons comes greed, most pick power and gold –

he believed he had pick fame –

but not everyone’s treasure is as the tales spoke. In naivety, he believed it was so easy to pick; he was incredibly wrong, when you find it, the greed swallows you whole before you let out a breath. 

He had met Geralt in a tavern, jaskier was knew, had only been away from the dragons guild for a month, he sung to the patrons of the bar. They were were impressed, they insulted him, and his talent. His treasure was harder to hoard then he thought. He also remembers thinking

“oh darling, if I could do so without dying I’d kill you all in a single breath.” 

He had seen Geralt in the corner, by the window. Jaskier had heard is heart before seeing him. Jaskier stepped over, stepped into the sunlight. Something settled heavily in Jaskier as he watched Geralt; a question and and an answer 

“have I known you in a time before?” And a “you’re made of the same clay as me.”

Jaskier had planted himself against a pillar. Noted that Geralt had planted himself by a fire pit, it was barely lit, but enough to give him some kind of warmth and light. Judging by how he sat, he’s been here sometime. 

‘Your world must be such a cold dark place for you to guard such a worthless treasure,”

his scent was dry, barren and lacked the distinction of emotion like everyone else in the room. He remembers thinking how not feeling would be enough to drive anyone mad before the throes of torture. 

But now, laying naked and vulnerable with Triss working between his legs, he realises he’s awfully wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. How he wishes he could feel nothing, or that this kind of torture would drive him mad – or had it already? What person would long for madness? Someone who had woven himself a web like he had. His web was not beautiful. No, it was spun of lies and well, madness. 

“You’re about four months along dear,” Triss spoke, interrupting the pity party jaskier had been throwing himself in his mind. 

He swallowed, nodded. No words found his lips these days. No panicked blurts of his gibberish. This one he could not pretend he wasn’t bothered by. This is the only reality he had wished wouldn’t be true, he would honestly rather die of a growth or some other terrible malformation. But instead, his heart was going to bleed for something he was going to love more then anything. 

He knew it was true, for the past months he had spent every night laying with a hand pressed to his stomach – like it was now. 

You’ll be here in four months my little love. 

He would imagine them with his eyes, Geralts hair. How it would feel to hold them in his hands, Impossibly gentle. Geralt hated doing things on the whim, but he imagined that Geralt would love this little unmade plan. That he would be swayed from anger when they opened their eyes at him. 

That maybe, just maybe the child would stir his heart like Jaskier did. 

Jaskier had begun to blame that notion on the dragon spirt dwelling in inside him, it often longed for more then it had. Always. Not that Jaskier had much right now in the terms of a hoard. But the hoard craved another’s touch, Geralts, and his words, he wanted to take all the words Geralt was willing to offer. He desperately missed the sweet words of their shared nights. 

But after Geralt had returned from seeing yennefer again, after things had settled into tranquility, he found himself hurt, the spark once there was gone. Even when geralts dimly lit eyes looked to him and his own cheeks reddened and his heart fluttered once more. 

Speaking of a certain Witcher, he was now in the library, likely still leaning over whatever text jaskier had last seen him with. Jaskier could see it – geralt did not often get the time to indulge himself in such luxuries as reading. But since their arrival, Geralt had Spent every moment amongst the books, had books of every type spread around him. Glancing between them all; almost desperately.

Jaskier made his way there, not willing to offer Triss any words outside of thanks. Right now, he just wanted to see Geralt. To give himself some fake security, some hope before he has to tell the Witcher. 

Before he has to ruin the mans life with something he spoke against almost as passionately as he did evil. Perhaps a child would be the worse kind of evil to Geralt. 

He turned into the room, and found Geralt leaning up to reach a book, exposing a perfect view of his firm ass. Jaskier couldn’t help but stare, man he is needy these days, even for his usual self. Geralt had heard him approach and had turned, in the motion Jaskier had quickly changed his face to one of boredom. 

“Still got your nose buried in these books geralt?” Jaskier smiled, “I thought we were heading out to meet Borsh today?” 

“Just a moment,” Geralt spoke, before flipping through another book. 

Jaskier watched softly, as geralt hopped down from the high backed chair he was using to reach the books. 

“You look pale, are you sure you can travel bard?” Geralt asked.

He pursed his lips, and nodded, “I am well.”

Jaskier craned his neck just a touch as Geralt returned to the shelves to pack away the books he had removed from them, he tiptoed to reach a ridiculously high shelf, revealing a thing trip of skin above his trousers. Jaskier could not help but let his mind ream as he tried to remember the last time he had seen Geralt in any state of undress - or in any state of a good mood recently. Perhaps he needed a break was all, a rest. 

That’s what he had hoped, but it was swiftly shattered when a certain dark haired mage peeked from around a shelf and looked Jaskier over. 

“I believe he just always looks like he just crawled out of the gutters.” 

Jaskier half smiled, the fun of their quibs had been lost sometime ago. But he will respond regardless, he won’t let her win. 

“And you look fresh out of a kings whorehouse,” Jaskier grinned falsely, the mage's cheeks darkened.

And there it was, or there she was. the enormous stone wall in the way of Jaskier ever getting to love Geralt openly. She filled him with an unnecessary bitterness, and perhaps an anger, an anger that burned deep in his belly; he tried to keep himself from breathing it - he would like to see her slightly roasted at times - but no, she makes Geralt happy in the times between their fighting. Though he outwardly tried not to show it, he sank into his seat and his frown deepened. Geralt had been one-hundred percent only interested in men, which jaskier had found quite appealing on their first meeting, it made him feel safe, and that there was a chance. It had meant he did not have to worry for the whims and delights of women to seduce the Witcher, half the competition. This, coupled with the fact Geralt never spent time with anyone outside of his family or Jaskier, meant for the first few years of their friendship he had hoped all avenues were clear for jaskier and he had a chance to potentially kindle a romance with Geralt.

Although that had swiftly changed one dark day, the day they met her, Yennefer. Jaskier, even in pain could see how Geralt practically stumbled over his words, slipping a sometimes painful line whenever he deemed it appropriate.

Which was never if you asked Jaskier, after all he was right there. 

She would smile at him, even when he would curse her and all her magicks, her cheeks would flower with a pink blush every time he would steal a too long glance at her. It was entirely ridiculous.

Jaskier hated it. He hated Yen. And if it wasn’t bad enoughm she disliked humans, particularly those who were musically gifted. She refused to acknowledge him most of the time. Except when she was tending to him - for Geralt. Jaskier had hoped, at least, when it was Geralts turn to be tended to he would be his usual barbed self and not allow her close; that he would have his typically horrendous attitude. But it didnt happen. He didnt shrug her off like he always did Jaskier. Soon, soon they were spending every chance they could together, it was becoming entirely frustrating, and completely - 

Unfair. Unfair his dragon fire had roared deep in his belly.

Realising Yennifer was pulling Geralt from the room, he stood and began to follow them out. 

There’s still a chance i could get him to love me. 

Choosing to ignore the painful ache in his chest, Jaskier swiftly followed after the pair - a hand pressed protectively to his belly.

He had something she did not.


	11. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's note.

Hey guys, sorry for he lack of updates. I have the rest here. Would you guys still want it?


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